Pushing the Limits

Joes Valley, UT- One of the things I love about living in Utah is the rock climbing. Any direction you go, there is good climbing. Joes Valley, down near Orangeville, is one of those places.  I first started going there about 10 years ago with one of the rowdiest groups of climbers I've ever met. Loud, obnoxious, immature, idiotic: All are adjectives I could use to describe us, however we all had fun, and that's what is most important. A couple years ago, we started hiking up random drainages to find new boulder problems. We had seen a particularly tall one from the road and had even walked up and looked at it, but it looked impossible, so we went on in search of other climbs.

Last year, Griffin Whiteside and I, along with some others, went back to it, and started cleaning it, brushing all the gunk off, making sure certain holds wouldn't break off. It was a necessary evil. A couple weeks after we had cleaned it, A group of us headed back up to it carrying large crashpads  so that Griffin could try it. Nobody else had any desire to try it. It's tall and scary, thus the name #Tall. The moment I captured on Griffin's first ascent, is one of the critical moments on the climb. Your right foot swings out, something climbers call a barn door, and the weight of your body starts to shift. If you're not strong enough, your body will continue to swing to the side, your hands will pop off and you will land on your head and die.

The shouts of "come on" and "stick it" went quiet as Griffin's right leg started swinging back. He looked down in fear, eyeballing the landing. Chad, moved some pads around, while scott feebly held his hands up, getting ready to make sure he didn't land on his head. A breath escaped Griffin as he put his right foot back on. The screams from below started back up again as he finished the last couple moves to top out. Easily one of the tensest moments I've ever witnessed while climbing with some of the best friends i've ever had, except Scott.

The Simplicity of it All

Dubrovnik, Croatia- Walking atop the wall that surrounds the old city, the sun sets around me, shadows growing longer by the second.  There is a line of people on both sides of me, all present to walk along the wall, taking in the sights of the city.  A series of shadows catch my eye and I stop abruptly, causing people to bump into each other.  Clothes hanging on a line, drying in the afternoon sun.  I love everything about it.  The simplicity of it all.  Because of the high flow of traffic, I have to wait maybe 5-10 minutes for there to be an opening.  My head stays bent down, staring into the top of the camera, watching shadows walk through the frame.  I glance up, waiting for a lull, and I notice one approaching.  With just enough time, my frame clears and I take the photo.

Mostar, Bosnia: A Hopeful City

Mostar, Bosnia- Coming to a stop, the sound of tires rolling over gravel is second only to the wind racing through the grass nearby. In the distance, clouds move swiftly as the sun sinks lower toward the horizon. Before me stands an enormous 100ft. tall cross, overlooking Mostar, Bosnia, a city rife with a history of violent religious intolerance.

As I lean against my tiny rental enjoying the evening, a car full of teenagers passes by, parking in front of the cross. They get out, snapping pictures, and running around laughing. Their carefree attitude perfectly aligns with the scene surrounding me. After about 10 minutes, they pack up and drive off, leaving me to enjoy a golden sunset above a hopeful city.

Walking through old town, a familiar feeling fills the air. Cobble streets wind through tight alleyways, with buildings on either side stretching up toward the sky. Vendors beckon for attention while children run unhindered through the crowd. Mostar however, is different than other small towns across Europe.

Since the war, back in the 90's, the city has made a point to keep buildings that have been destroyed and left abandoned as a reminder of the atrocities that had taken place. Walking through town, new apartment complexes stand side-by-side with vacant, bullet-ridden hollowed out shells.

Two women walk their infants past a nondescript war-torn building. The echoes of drunks and junkies from inside reverberate out toward a bustling city, teeming with a generation of youth ready to rewrite history.

Christians and Muslims peacefully go about their lives, aware of their differences and the underlying tensions that go along with them. Struggling not to relive the atrocities that remain just below the surface, waiting to be unearthed.

Sea Breeze

Burgeo, Newfoundland - One thing I find particularly amazing about being near the ocean is the sea breeze.  There is nothing like the smell of the clean salty air or the feel of the cool wind against your face.  It really is one of my favorite experiences.  While we were on a climbing trip for The North Face, we stopped off in Burgeo, a small town off the southern coast of Newfoundland.  While we were waiting to board a boat to Francois, I wandered up from the docks, enraptured by the flowing garments.  I shot a couple photos, then went and sat down admiring the view.  The wind whipped through the grass next to me, keeping the bugs at bay.  It was a perfect spring day.

The Outward Expression of Emotion

Santa Monica, California - The outward expression of emotion in this photo series is incredibly simple, however what's occurring on the inside is beyond me. I can see that one of these people is really enjoying themselves, and one isn't, but I have no idea what is going on inside their heads. And that's amazing.

Heaven and Earth

Washington - Heaven and earth pass before us, arcing out across the skies, and yet we are transfixed on what is out of reach. The inconsequential buries us beneath a mound of insecurities, consuming our lives but we rearrange our priorities to accommodate. For what? Is it isolation that we seek? Is it solitude?

When we wake do we dream of the eternal, or do our dreams waste away in a sea of likes and comments? Our infinite wasted, our potential squandered. We float through space, among the stars and galaxies, selfishly consuming the vast quantity of garbage that inhabits the void, but the world rotates and we continue our journey on an unknown path.

The path leads us into the woods, walking through the trees, feeling the mist of water against our skin, the thundering sound reverberates deep within us. hope illuminates the horizon, trees silhouette against the mountains. The earth exhales and we feel it's warmth. It speaks and we listen. If only we listen.

Just Enough Time to Get Antsy

Idaho -Sitting in our ready room while listening to morning briefing, our crew boss came in with orders.  We were headed to a fire in Idaho.  Instantly, the excitement grew and the chatter increased.  He calmed everyone down, briefed us on the situation and told us to get ready.  In an instant, 20 of us were filing out the door, tidying up any last minute items that had come up.  Within 20 minutes we were loaded into the crew carriers and headed toward the fire.  It was about a 5 hour drive to get there.  Just enough time to get antsy.  When we arrived, we could see the fire ripping up a hillside, the column rising up into the clear blue sky.  When a fire is completely out of control like that, there aren't many options.  Our crew boss tied in with the Incident Commander and talked out a plan.  We headed over to a portion of the fire that was manageable and started burning out off of roads.  The winds were steady and twice we had to stop our operation and get to a safety zone, only to head back in minutes later when it was deemed we were safe.

At one point, a lone buggy was sent in with a crew of 6 to tie in with an engine and perform a particularly scary burnout.  They would start lighting along a road, the engine going one way, the buggy going the other in hopes that it would create a black line, a buffer that would stop the larger fire. The winds had picked up and the fire was closing in on our line.  It became apparent that the operation was wasn't going to be successful.  The crew members on the ground, were ordered back into the buggy.  One hung on to a railing on that back and continued to burnout as the buggy raced up the dirt road back toward the safety zone.  We watched from afar as the fire blew past our line, knowing that we would regroup and try some more. As the sun set, the fire died down a little bit more and we continued the burnout into the night.  After burning out for the majority of the day and night, we tied it into an anchor point and settled down for the evening.  The fire would continue ripping for another couple days before we, along with several other crews and a few air tankers, could finally get a handle on it.

Red Plastic Chair

In Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, a structure that looks coincidentally like the Arc D'Triumph in Paris looms over a bustling square. As you approach the massive structure, you realize that it is in fact a replica of the one in Paris, except with a little Asian flare.

Back during the cold war, The U.S. Government gave Laos massive amounts of concrete to make another runway at their airport . Instead of making a runway, they decided to make the replica (ballin!).

Wandering up the stairs, past all the merchants selling souvenirs, I passed a young boy, sitting in a red plastic chair. He seemed bored, as if his youthful adolescence was being squandered. His father, close by selling trinkets, loudly beckoned to me to purchase some wares. I smiled kindly and declined, interested more in the suffering taking place nearby.

I chuckled as I shot the photo, amused by the irony of being bored while sitting in a giant replica of the Arc D'Triumph in Vientiane, Laos.

A Smoggy Feeling of Desperation

Simferopol, Ukraine- After spending a couple weeks filming rock climbing in Ukraine, I was able to take a day or two for myself and wander around Simferopol, one of the larger cities on the Crimean peninsula. The lackadaisical people floating in the sea were replaced with anxious workers scurrying about, trying to find a means to an end. The cool breeze coming off the sea was replaced with a smoggy feeling of desperation, perpetrated by industry and the old Russian cars clogging the streets.

In a quiet square tucked away from the mayhem of the city, a few people walk by heading to work. As they pass, their long shadows extend toward a large statue built by the old empire. Continuing, they cross the square until reaching a massive building looming overhead. Quickly ascending the stairs, they disappear inside, away from the traffic and haze of a city desperate for change.

The Great Salmon Adventure

In 2011, Luke Nelson and Ty Draney ran over a hundred mile length of the salmon river in the remote Frank Church wilderness area. Luke, a friend from college, asked me to come shoot photos and I eagerly agreed to it. We packed up, and drove north, stopping in a town so the two could eat some giant hamburgers, carbo-loading for their "fun run" the following day. We picked a spot at the beginning of the course to crash, while Luke and Ty ran over gear. Between the two of them, they were packing a Spot Tracker, which is a device that allows them to send out texts, as well as allowing others to follow them via GPS. The only problem is that it's one-way communication, meaning they can send out texts as well as their GPS location, but can't receive any, nor can they see where they are. Accompanied with a map, and enough food for about 24 hours, they set out early the next morning. Their quiet footsteps slowly fading into the distance was an indicator that I needed to start my 3 hour drive to find a trailhead where I would hike in from the following morning.

The next day, I woke up at 3 and set out, holding a monopod in one hand in case I was attacked by a bear. Running through the wilderness at 4 in the morning by yourself is a very interesting experience, jumping at every sound. Birds and bunnies turned into bears and cougars. After waiting for 13 hours in a location that I thought they would run through, I watched the sunset and decided to head back to the car.  Running back, I wondered If I had gone to the wrong location. I drove back to where I thought they would finish, thinking that they were waiting there without a ride, but when I showed up, they were no where to be seen. I camped close by, thinking they might show up at any point, but the next morning, when they still hadn't arrived, I set off up the canyon in search of the two.

After a couple hours, the trail disappeared, which left me wondering if I was even in the right canyon. I climbed halfway up the canyon wall to get a better view, and continued onward. An hour later, I saw them far down below in the river bottom, bushwhacking through thick brush. I shouted and started running down toward them, relieved that I had found them. I met up with the two survivors and found out that they had taken a couple wrong turns and were also concerned that they were in the wrong drainage. I gave them some much needed food and started heading toward the finish. When we got out of the canyon, we slowly crossed one last river, found the truck and plopped down, exhausted. Luke and Ty both completed their journey after more than 40 hours on the move. When we finally got cell phone service, I received Luke's text message from the day earlier saying "very lost getting serious more soon". As we drove away, I chuckled at the cryptic text that spawned several distraught messages from family members, relieved that we were all safe, ready for our next adventure.

The Harbor

Down near the pier, the sun is low on the horizon, its golden rays cut short by an approaching storm. Despite the inclement weather, the men working on the pier don’t hesitate. Father and son work together methodically prepping their boat to head out for the evening. They move about coiling ropes, shifting nets, transporting fuel, doing all that is necessary for their night on the ocean -- that great and dark expanse.

The father watches his son, correcting his mistakes as his father had done for him, hoping that his son will be able to do the same, knowing that a simple life can be a rewarding life, but like the evening sun on the horizon, the old ways are slowly setting. Light is disappearing, fading into the night as large commercial fishing vessels move in. Competition is fierce, overfishing is rampant, and savings are drying up.

Surly fishermen slowly walk along the docks, away from their boats after a cold night on the ocean. The sound of their heavy footsteps ring hollow on the old wooden planks.

The old way of life is dying. It is a shrinking culture, trying to stay relevant, grasping at the way things have always been, but failing to realize that they will never be. It’s a losing battle. As the years pass by, fishing villages become smaller. Boats sit on land, rotting. Fishing nets piled high lay stagnant, the smell of the ocean fading as the seasons wear on.

Lighthouses sit unused as stoic reminders of the past. The outsides kept clean and maintained for the photo opportunities of thousands of tourists, eager to depart the bus and stare from afar, but walking closer and peering inside, old desks can be seen gathering dust, while chipped and faded paint on the walls gives away its true age.

Meanwhile, the fishermen go on doing the only thing they know how to do. They put food on the table for their family and provide a roof over their head. Their happiness isn’t based on how much money they make, but on being able to provide the things in life that make them feel needed, loved.

As the sun rises the following morning, so do their hopes and dreams. The catch is fresh in their mind and as they return to rest in their beds, the mind takes over, wandering throughout time and space, thinking about the future and what it holds.

The Country

Days pass by, driving North around the fjords, through tunnels, over mountains – always driving, searching. Churches and cemeteries dot the countryside next to abandoned farmhouses, whose only inhabitants scurry about looking for food and shelter from the incessant storms that batter the well-weathered walls.

In the small towns that litter the countryside, church steeples rise up, stretching toward the sky. Every Sunday, town people fill the pews, solemnly giving thanks for the lives that are their own. One-by-one they file outside, walking past the old cemeteries filled with small wooden crosses. The grass is long and unkempt, still brown from the winter, but on the verge of change.

The earth rotates and warms the air. Iceland is waking up from its winter slumber.

Driving by country houses, mothers hang clothes in the yard while keeping an ever-watchful eye on their children who wrestle around close by. Animals, with their thick winter coats, plod through fields grazing on the spring foliage, perfectly content to lie about in the sun.

Endless expanses of color stretch out toward the horizon: Rich green valleys, carved smooth by receding glaciers follow crystal clear meandering rivers and streams. Rugged mountains, torn apart by years of volcanic abuse, shoot up from the ancient flood plains. Clouds race across the sky as shadows roll over the earth.

Sounds of nature are soon mixed with sounds of man. Tractors yawn and roll out of the barns. They lumber over the fields, tilling the earth, cracking the surface, allowing it to breathe. The farmers who toil under the sun day in and day out share a connection with the land. They’re in touch with every living thing, waiting, patiently listening, watching for signs that tell them it is time to start the process. From creation until death, all of Iceland belongs to the earth.

The City

An uneasy feeling runs through the city like a thick fog. People waiting, not knowing, with no understanding of the future, or what it holds. They sit in their coffee shops, shielded by the glass as they look out in to the unkown, purposefully unaware of the struggle outside. Behind the façade of pristine waterfalls, and lush grassy fields lies a problem that nobody cares to see: A cave of uncertainty.  Dark and lonely are the people inside.

Clouds fill the skies overhead as I walk down barren streets, peering down alleys and around corners, looking for any sign of life. I stand on the leeward side of a concrete column, a relic of a dying industry. The arctic breeze permeates the city, ever present and always near, chilling to the core. It's inescapable.

The sun rises further in the sky. City life quietly moves unseen around me. The hum of distant traffic is an undertone while melodic birds sit on the wires above. Occasionally the sound of conversation will float by; but it's rarely locatable, always somewhere off in the distance, as if just around the corner; a whisper on the wind.

I start to notice people scurrying around like rats in a maze, avoiding the bitter-cold wind outside. The empty streets become a canvas for life. I wait patiently for someone to walk by. My face and hands go numb from the cold. From down the street, a young man walks briskly uphill toward a nondescript building. Walking with intent, he passes in front of me. A brushstroke. One moment in time captured. His feelings and emotions are immortalized.

Spring is closing in. Walking further from the ocean, I notice that the beautiful architecture no longer towers above. Instead, drab government housing becomes commonplace. Garbage is littered about in the nooks and crevices of the city. Graffiti is plastered high up the walls of apartments.

Tucked in between worn houses, hidden from the wind, children line up along a wall as they listen to music and smoke cigarettes. Corrugated metal bounces the sun's rays as they bask in the afternoon light. Their talk is light hearted, youthful, but it inevitably shifts and the mood changes. Their park is going to be demolished and replaced with a senior citizen's center, one boy says. Sullen looks sweep across their faces.  They quietly soak up their memories, taking in the sights; the street art, the trees, the shade, the anxiety of a youth struggling to make a place in the world.

The World Rushes By

Chendu, China- When life starts getting chaotic and it feels like it's spiraling out of control, I always like to take an evening walk.  At night, everything seems a little more subdued.  The lighting, the people, the energy.  Even when I was traveling through China, I could still take some time to relax and gather my thoughts.  While I was on one of my walks, I noticed a bike taxi driver waiting for his next fare.  I'm not sure what he was thinking, if he was relaxing, or just bored, but I found it interesting that he could stand out so well while the rest of the city rushed around him.  He was a rock in the middle of a raging river. Over the last couple years, he has become my rock.  A realization that sometimes it's best to stop and take a look around you, even as the world rushes by.

Wandering Among Giants

Rainbow, California - Wandering among giants amidst a colorful sunset, Abbey Smith and Buck (Strong Man) Bronson find a nice tall boulder problem to finish the day on. Not too easy, not too hard, but high enough to get scared. Pulling for the top, A squeal emerges as a blown foot sends Abbey plummeting toward the earth. Minutes later, she is back on the rock, determined to put up more of a fight. After a moment of hesitation, she pulls the final move to the lip, topping out easily. Standing above the landscape, she pauses momentarily to enjoy the surroundings before scrambling back down in search of another problem.